


Apotheosis

by Khadgarfield



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Bottom!Genn, Fluff, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khadgarfield/pseuds/Khadgarfield
Summary: Everything changes, especially people, places and things.
Relationships: Genn Greymane/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	Apotheosis

**Author's Note:**

> SL was cool and all but its business as usual in my head still.

Genn knew that transformation had _always_ defined him.

Although he had resisted the idea at first, he had now been long enough in this world to recognize that. His Gilnean blood knew the rhythm of the seasons like it knew the becks of his veins. The lady and the child governed his emotions, and the orbit of planets around the sun structured the minutiae of his days. Genn had stepped in and out of states of being, in and out of places he called home, in a way that could only be described in that gap between experience and recount. He couldn’t explain the knowledge of such things, beyond saying it felt like destiny making notches on his bones - Whatever happened, wherever he went, there was always change and change, at least, was constant in a callous world. 

He was still nervous, though, as it started to become obvious how things were going to unfold. At first, he hadn’t been sure if what was happening was happening - Sometimes, when they were walking together, Anduin would laugh a little too loudly, and Genn would feel a pull like he was a great night moth and Anduin, a glowing candleflame. Other times, the young king’s invitation would be more obvious - When they were sharing audiences with important lords and leaders, Genn would catch him studying him from across the chamber. There would be a moment of wordless frission, before Anduin smiled and hooked a strand of hair back behind his ear, and Genn always felt self-conscious in the aftermath. He had always been relatively vain, but now that feeling began to increase tenfold. Anduin Wrynn, after all, was young and beautiful, with hair the colour the enchanted threads that tailors wove into seams and eyes that were the envy of the rarest Pandaren gems. His mouth was thin, and prone to smiles that were clever and sharp and fired as effortlessly as arrows from his bow. Each one landed with precision, disclosing a mind as astute as his eye, and Genn knew he could make anyone fall in love with him, if he wanted to. Even under his measured exterior, Genn hoped the boy knew that he felt lucky - that of all the people he might have longed for, Anduin Wrynn had chosen him.

“Genn?”

Anduin called him by his name, when very few people dared to do so. _King Greymane_ was the usual turn of phrase. Occasionally, _His Majesty_. With Anduin, though, he was simply Genn, and maybe once it had been innocent but now it was intimate. It made his heart feel twenty years younger than it was.

“What?”

Anduin’s lips curled wryly at his gruffness. They walked together, through the graveyard, and the sun was shining and the birds were singing, and a breeze danced through the leaves overhead. Summer was upon them. The air was warm enough that Genn had shucked his coat, and Anduin wore only cloth in place of his plate armor. Under the shadows of the oak trees that flanked the path, Genn let their arms hook together as lovers did. It was embarrassing, how soft the contact made his heart feel.

“What are you thinking about?”

A strange question, from someone who tended to be uncannily perceptive. Genn thought that probably meant he knew already, and wanted to call attention to it.

“Nothing of consequence,” He lied, “I was just thinking about the season change being upon us already.”

The war had been going on for a long time, but just as the seasons changed, it seemed as though the tides were shifting. Enough so that Anduin walked with a lighter step, and sometimes he spoke of the times that would come after the war, when Azeroth circled around the sun again and everything changed once more.

“Oh? And what of it?” Anduin asked. His weight on Genn’s arm was warm and familiar, and reminded him of how he had walked with Mia once. With his daughter. With his son.

“I’m glad to be back here on the cusp of summer. Boralus is a grim place, made grimmer in rain and snow.”

“The _Gilnean_ complains the place is to grim?”

His amusement was audible. Pleasing, even though it came at Genn’s expense.

“My home,” Genn responded evenly, “was not always so cold and grey as southerners would claim.”

Anduin had no way to know – he had never seen the place in autumn, when the sky glowed pink and orange and the cobbled streets were carpeted with leaves of crispy gold. He had never seen the woods in springtime, when the rabbits ran through well-worn tracks and birds sung archaic hymns to the spirits that dwelt therein. Most of all, he had never seen a Gilnean winter, sat by the fire with ginger cake and hot tea, while rain pummeled the windows and a paramour warmed ones sheets.

“If you say so,” Anduin squeezed his arm lightly with his own. “Then I have no reason to doubt you.”

They had reached the far end of the cemetery. Wordlessly, they came to a stop in front of a familiar headstone. A grave to a mother, and a dearly loved queen, dead for as long as Anduin had lived but even if she was living she would be younger than Genn was now.

“I should have brought flowers,” Anduin mused, taking in the bareness of the plain white stone. “I forget, no one really brings them anymore. Not since…”

Not since Varian had departed their company. Genn’s friend, his equal, who had abandoned them both to face this world alone.

 _Another change,_ Genn thought to himself. _Another thing that can never be the same._

He felt less troubled by it now, though. Perhaps the loss was eased by the touch of a gentle hand.

“We can come back,” Genn suggested, thinking that even without flowers, the grave looked beautiful in dappled sunlight. “I saw a daisy vendor near the cathedral.”

“No, it’s okay.” Anduin swayed closer, and their shoulders brushed in an innocuous touch that made Genn’s tongue feel too big for his throat. “It’s not about the flowers, really.”

“Then what is it about?”

“Pilgrimage, I suppose. I don’t know. I think it’s just important that I’m here.”

Genn thought fleetingly of the tombs of his own parents. Abandoned and untended, they were likely reclaimed by the woods and the earth, by now.

_Change, change. Nothing ever stays the same._

Their bodies had been dust, and that dust was now the earth, and as Genn stood arm in arm with the young King he knew that his own days were numbered more now than ever. His dust too, would belong to something else someday. To the ocean, to the sky, or to the body of the scavenging beast that crawled over his grave. Perhaps before then, though, there would be yet more changes. A shift in matter. A transition from man to beast to back again. Dawn to dusk over and over but through it all, now, there was actually one other constant.

_Him._

“It’s hardly a pilgrimage if it takes only twenty minutes to walk here.”

“Everything is a pilgrimage if you have the right mindset.”

“You are a zealot.”

“I am a _priest.”_ There was laughter in his voice, and it was a sound that could crack even Genn’s hard exterior. Indeed it had, many times over. “And you are too cynical for your own good.”

“I’m a realist.”

“I think you are a romantic, under it all.”

“Ah I see, you’re a zealot _and_ a fool then?”

“Can you prove me wrong?”

At this, it was Genn’s turn to laugh. He did not laugh often, or easily, but here it felt good and easy to do so. Strange, considering they were in a graveyard.

“And how do I prove that, dare I ask?”

When he turned to regard his company, he was surprised by the intensity of his stare. Anduin was shorter than he was, but somehow he appeared much larger. Perhaps he just wanted Genn to see him that way.

“Tell me to stop,” He said simply, and Genn only had a moment to wonder what he meant before he was up on his toes, closing the gap between them, brushing a kiss against the top of Genn’s lip.

Maybe he was right, Genn decided, as he let himself be kissed in a graveyard at noon on a clear summer’s day. Perhaps he was a hopeless romantic, or maybe he was just blessed - chosen one amongst all others by a higher man than he. It didn’t matter all that much, because whatever he was, he knew that Anduin raised him up, and as the days passed like shooting stars falling from the firmament, he felt himself changing a little more.

…

Inevitably though, brief stolen kisses were not enough to satisfy forever.

Every taste of his lips, every discreet touch, and every moment he caught Genn’s eye across the strategy table seemed to be another tiny burden on his shoulders. Another fraction closer to the moment it became terminal, and the transformation of Genn Greymane was complete.

Genn had lost count of how many times he had shifted, how many times he had stepped in and out of his different physical skins, but the transmutation of the soul was a far more complicated process. It was an alchemy neither of them really knew, not even Anduin, and he was the one who had all the mystical knowing. All Genn had was his recollection, and a pattern of memories that cycled themselves through his head so often that he began to see that really, there was no other destiny for him besides this one.

It really did all lead to this.

To a welcoming kiss, with parted lips, and hands that cradled the side of his face like he was a treasure that might be broken. To a warm room, a soft bed, to Anduin Wrynn pulling off his tunic and loosing his hair so it tickled against the sides of Genn’s face when he leaned in to kiss him again. Anduin’s mouth was smooth and rich, and it made Genn think fondly of the taste of his own youth. It brought back memories of reckless hunts through ancient forests, of dancing in jeweled ballrooms in the old Gilnean style, and of libation and feasts and beautiful bodies that clamored for his attention, when he was a prince and there wasn’t so much as a shadow of a tarnish on his crown. All of these things began to blur into one as Anduin slid their tongues together, pushing up his shirt and running his palms beneath it to rake them through the hairs on Genn’s chest.

His heart was racing, beneath that palm, faster and harder than it did the first time he succumbed to the worgen curse, even. Anduin did not try and calm him, dragging him further into the torrent instead. He brushed a light caress across Genn’s nipples, and whined softly when the body beneath him arched upwards, to press between his thighs.

“Watch yourself,” Anduin breathed, letting his fingers trail down over Genn’s belly, following the past dark hairs that mapped the journey from his navel to the heat between his legs. They could both see how badly he wanted his touch – not just in this moment but for countless moments that lead irrevocably to now. All those stolen kisses had compounded, leading towards the second where Anduin was tracing the shape of his erection through his pants, and the ghost of his caress was irresistible. When Genn's pelvis tipped into his fingers, Anduin’s eyes flickered up to fix on him.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked. Of course, Genn didn’t want him to stop. His cock hadn’t ached like this in _years_. He hadn’t been touched like this in longer. At least, not by someone else. The memory of what it felt like to be pleasured cycled up to the surface of his mind, and he realized that at some stage, he had forgotten it completely. Forgotten the hunger. The desperation. The bliss.

“Keep going,”

“Is that a request?”

“ _Please._ ”

So accustomed to barking orders, asking like this was altogether new. Or perhaps it reminded him of when he was younger, approaching strange women and offering them a hand. Or maybe when he begged for mercy from the unfeeling goddess of the moon and stars. 

Anduin bowed, and mouthed the shape of his hardness through his pants. Genn could feel the pressure of his tongue, the warmth of his breath leaking through the weave as the young king wrapped his lips around his cockhead. His nails, filed short and tidy in the style healers favoured, skated over the muscles of Genn’s stomach, and his own erection pressed rigidly against Genn’s leg.

The heat and pressure of his mouth was torturously good, but infinitely frustrating. He mimed sucking cock with the patient dedication he gave to all things he did, though perhaps with a little more eagerness. Genn could only feel a ghost of heat through the cotton prison that contained him. Sweet torment. It went on for far too long, yet not long enough, but he forgot all about this paradox when finally, Anduin was sliding down his undergarments, and taking his length into his soft, wet mouth. Genn pushed his hands through cornsilk hair, urging him to swallow more, and without challenge Anduin did exactly that. His hand massaged the junction between Genn’s thighs, fingers teasing his balls in a way that was unfamiliar and terrifyingly good. Maybe one day Genn would ask him where he learned to do that. What kind of books was he _reading_ these days? The thought of pouring over erotic manuals together excited him, even as it made his heart feel warm and verdant with love.

Yes, Anduin Wrynn was loved. Loved by strangers, loved by the light, loved by those who served him with starry eyes. Most of all though, he was loved by Genn Greymane, who had once been a stranger, and then an advisor, and then a friend. The transition had happened so slowly that the boundaries between them all started to fray together, and the whole series of separate points became a line that formed a single image – the image of a lover reclined on his bed, his head tipped back, his legs spread. Genn thought he might be drunk on the majesty of all this transformation.

Genn’s grip on Anduin’s hair tightened, as he edged closer to climax. He wasn’t sure if he should let himself go, or if he should refrain, and it was a good thing Anduin decided for him because as each moment passed he drew closer and closer to letting himself cum down his throat. Anduin squeezed the base of his cock, pulling his mouth off and shooting him a coy, bright eyed smile.

“Not yet,” He said, voice syrupy and deep with arousal. Genn sucked a deep breath, fixated on the way his body moved as he sat up and stripped off, exposing the familiar and luminous planes of his chest and stomach and then more. Genn had not yet seen his sculpted legs, his square hips, or his hard cock before. His manhood was slim and flushed and just as perfect as the rest of him, but here was a moment of vulnerability once his underwear was gone, the ghost of insecurity as he compared himself to Genn and found himself lacking.

“See anything you like?” he asked, cheeks darkening conspicuously under Genn’s gaze. It was just another way to say _I’m afraid you won’t find me beautiful._

“Everything.”

Assured, Anduin seemed to blossom, the tenseness in his muscles unfurled like the petals on a budding rose. The inviting curl of his lips beckoned Genn in close, to kiss him again, and Anduin groped for the oil in his bedside table. Genn noted he kept it stashed in a draw with a few slim tomes – naughty volumes pilfered from the back of unfrequented bookstores, perhaps? Works that detailed the mechanics of kissing and touching and sucking cock?

Anduin moved over Genn, boxing him in, and Genn was surprised by the ease with which he maneuvered them both – his strength was well hidden in his neat, sensible frame, but with hardly any effort he had Genn pressed hard against the mattress, his thighs pressing firmly against the back of Genn’s ass.

Genn’s resolution faltered for a moment. He hadn’t lain with anyone like this for a long time. The memory of what it was like felt fossilized in the back of his mind, along with the faces of those lovers he had known when he was younger. Many of them were less than ephemeral, now, shadows and ghosts and treasured memories faded to a sigh with age. The touch that slipped between his legs and behind his balls carried a rich nostalgia – it gave him a glimpse into a life that wasn’t his, anymore, and that perhaps had never really been his at all.

Someday, would Anduin think of lying with him like this as well?

He had to remind himself that if he did, he did. That was just the way of this world. Transformation.

When Anduin’s fingers pressed inside, it felt divine – the rush of decades swelling over him, breaking across his nerves like water cresting over the rim of a cup. His senses were flooded with memories – a boy with dark eyes in the deep places of Greymane manor, Mia’s gentle smile over the rim of a wineglass, and Anduin on the day that they had met. A serious, intense teenager who burned himself into the consciousness of everyone he came across. All these past things, gone in smoke, persevered through the thread that was his heartbeat surging forward in time and space.

So much change. So much change. And Anduin. Sweet Anduin.

For Genn, this man was his magnum opus. His final triumph. His kiss brought the mercy of transubstantiation, lifting his essence from his lips and casting it into the air where it could linger unbridled. Ever shifting, ever transforming, eternally alive. Anduin hooked his fingers in Genn’s body, making him quake. He kissed him with a desperation that betrayed his inexperience, and Genn urged him on with a whisper.

_Fuck me._

Anduin replaced his fingers with his cock, breaking him open in the smoothest, most exquisite of ways. He was smaller than Genn, but just as passionate, uttering a long sound of pleasure and wasting no time following his instincts. They began to rock together, slowly at first, and the feeling of having someone so supple and beautiful between his legs made Genn’s heart swell. Made him lose track of himself, of the burdens of his familiar, tired body. As the pace lifted, Anduin propped himself above him, and the expression on his face, the movements of his muscles, reminded Genn of how he looked when they sparred together. A holy avenger, body wrought in glory and light. Anduin grasped the headboard behind Genn’s shoulders, throwing his head back as he fucked him, and Genn wanted more of him than he had ever wanted from anyone. He reached for the young king like a naive child reaches for the stars, and Anduin gasped as Genn’s fingers skated over his throat.

So beautiful. So glorious.

Genn dropped his hand, curling his fingers around his own length and stroking himself with quick, rough jerks of his hand. The muscles in his legs were starting to ache, he hitched his calves around Anduin’s hips and pulled him in close, and Anduin whimpered above him.

“ _Light,_ Genn!”

And that was enough for Genn to meet his release, with Anduin’s cockhead pressing against the trigger in his core. His orgasm tore through him, wrecking him, as though it was unfolding him and separating him into the currents of people and places and things that he had come into contact with, had been impressed upon his soul, and made him whole.

There was no greater purpose, than to love his fate with the same ardor as his fate loved him. To be grateful, that every step he had taken had led him here, now. And as Anduin finished inside him with a blissful cry, Genn believed that this moment would linger with him for longer than eternity.


End file.
